The moment this Prada collection hit the runway, I died in that Rachel Zoe sort of way. Haven’t decided quite which piece to splurge on yet, but I’m really in love with the more crazy sandals. Hot rod inspired heels? Could you think of a better way to inspire faster healing in my damn knee?

I’ve obsessed before and I’m obsessing again. Reed Krakoff just talks to me. And look! 2 stellar bags that I actually want for under $1000. Miracles do happen. Boxer in dark denim and black leather, $890 | Sandy mini shoulder bag, $525

Ingredients & Materials:

• 1 pack of lasagna noodles
• 1.5 jars of Prego meat flavored sauce (don’t judge)
• 2 lbs ground steak
• fresh garlic cloves
• 1 large container (48oz) of ricotta cheese (whole milk)
• 2 lbs fresh mozzarella (big salted balls, duh)
• 1 container freshly grated romano cheese
• 1 large sauce pan
• 1 large pot
• 1 extra deep lasagna pan
• spoons, strainers, garlic crusher, and all that jazz

What you do:

1. Cook the ground steak in a large sauce pan until brown and drain the fat. Add in the Prego along with crushed or roasted (if you’re feeling extra ambitious) garlic, cover and let simmer.
2. In a large pot, boil water and cook the noodles. I usually use about 12-15 noodles in my lasagna, but always cook a few extra in case a few rip (which is bound to happen).
3. Prep your lasagna pan while the noodles are cooking by smearing the entire thing with a thin layer of butter or spray the hell out of it with Pam. Also pre-heat the oven to 400 (I think… might be 350, whatever).
4. Pull out all of that delicious cheese and cut the fresh mozzarella balls into discs about 1/4 of an inch thick.
5. Once the noodles are done (not too soft, but fully cooked), put down the first noodle layer on the bottom of the pan with the edges of the noodles just slightly overlaping.
6. Add a generous layer of the meaty sauce.
7. Layer on the ricotta cheese by simply scooping it out of the container.
8. Next, add a layer of the fresh mozzarella slices and then a sprinkle of the romano cheese.
9. Looks good, right? Now repeat… noodles, meat sauce, ricotta, mozzarella, romano.
10. And repeat again. Noodles, meat sauce, ricotta, mozzarella, romano.
11. Cover with a layer of tin foil and put into the oven for about 40 minutes. Mine always ends up super heavy so be aware of that as you transfer to the oven. I also leave a broiler pan or walled cookie sheet on the rack below in case the juice boils over (which mine does on occasion).
12. Remove the foil and leave in the oven for another 20 minutes. At this point your house should be smelling good. Open the windows and watch the boys gather outside.
13. When done, remove from oven and let sit for about 45 minutes before serving.
14. Eat with garlic bread and a good glass of wine if you want to feel extra fancy. Enjoy!

Also, you can always freeze half of it if you don’t think you’ll finish it (lasagna is a terrible thing to waste).

So haunting. So good. I love her voice and entire vibe… and the fact that Lana Del Rey really reminds me of Sam’s dopey sister in Sixteen Candles.

Several months ago I decided to invest in stepping up my apartment’s game and now I’m ready to tackle the incredibly small dining area. I’ve finally chosen a table, chairs/stools, the decor accents, and just now decided to paint one of the walls purple. Not a loud purple, but something soft and subtle. Soothing and calm – perhaps one of the plum-y options shown above. We’ll see how I do – wish me luck!

I’m going to a couple of parties this year and was told I needed to ‘slut it up’ a bit more than usual. Well, slutty nurse, slutty kitten, slutty bumble bee, etc. aren’t really my thing (in years past, I’ve been a zombie, jellyfish, elf, and part of a haunted forest), so I tried to think of other costumes that would make my friends happy (ie at least show my legs) without looking like a ho. And so I’m going as a flower, inspired by the Christian Dior Fall 2010 Couture collection and frilly pink peonies (my faves). I’ll be layering pink tutus, wearing leafy Valentino sandals that I’ve had for over 10 years but only worn 5 or 6 times, and plan on having too much fun with my hair (def incorporating cellophane) and wild makeup with falsies too! What will you be dressing up as?

I love love the holidays–especially Halloween and Christmas–and always go a bit overboard with my decorating. Right now, we have a screaming ghost that flies across the living room ceiling, a hanging skeleton, lots of cobwebs, spiders, crisp fall leaves, and glittery bones all around my house. And candles. Lot of candles (even more than usual). We also have gauzy ghosts drying, which we sculpted using cheese cloth and liquid starch last night. And I also just ordered D.L. & C.‘s large black skull candle and gold skull candle snuffer today (on gilt of course) after admiring them for years.

I keep meaning to create a list here of all the things I really want in the hopes of curbing my impulse purchases, so what better time to begin than now? Starting things off is Prada by Abrams Books, which I’ve wanted for a long time and just bought yesterday thanks to a sale on Gilt. Prada is and has always been one of my very favorite brands for more reasons that I care to list and it’s almost absurd that I’ve waited so long to snag the book.

About the book: Prada is the first book that documents three decades of ground-breaking fashion, architecture, film and art by the Prada company, including the work of the design studio and the workshop; extensive creative partnerships with photographers, designers, architects and film directors; and large scale architectural commissions, the Fondazione Prada, and the development of a new museum. Among the many features of this rich innovative book with its thousands of images are a photo-essay by renowned photographer Brigitte Lacombe, stills taken from short films documenting the craftsmanship of the factory, images of the unique fashion show environments, an overview of all Miuccia Prada’s collections with thumbnail pictures of 3,885 different “looks,” collages of the most influential shoe and bags, photographs of the final product on the runway, celebrated store designs in New York and Los Angeles by Rem Koolhaas/OMAand in Tokyo by Swiss architects Herzog & de Meuron, a film collaboration with director Ridley Scott, Koolhaas’s radical “Prada Transformer” pavilion in Seoul, costume designs for a Japanese manga heroine, Prada found on the street and celebrities photographed on the red carpet, and blogs expressing the almost fanatical devotion of lovers of the brand…like me

From Vogue.com’s APT with LSD feature on Devon Radziwill. I’ve been wanting a good zebra skin for so long now that it hurts, and Devon just has layers of them on the floor of her living room loft. And her coffee table? Love. Sigh. Oh, and she happens to live on the same block as one of my favorite stores in the entire city – De Vera. One day, Casey, one day…

Perhaps what I really need to do right now is spend some time focusing my me, reading, writing, sipping coffee and coffee shops, going to jazz clubs, etc. I need to collect my thoughts, understand where exactly I am and where I want to go – and to understand that this is my stuff and to be careful not to project that on others (whether poor, unsuspecting boys that I go out with, or friends). Anyway, might as well restart all of this with another read of Marilyn Frye’s Oppression:

It is a fundamental claim of feminism that women are oppressed. The word “oppression” is a strong word. It repels ant attracts. It is dangerous and dangerously fashionable and endangered. It is much misused, and sometimes not innocently.

The statement that women are oppressed is frequently met with the claim that men are oppressed too. We hear that oppressing is oppressive to those who oppress as well as those they oppress. Some men cite as evidence of their oppression their much-advertised inability to cry. It is tough, we are told, to be masculine. When the stresses and frustrations of being a man are cited as evidence that oppressors are oppressed by their oppressing, the word “oppression” is being stretched to meaninglessness; it is treated as though its scope includes any and all human experience of limitation or suffering, no matter the cause, degree or consequence. Once such usage has been put over on us, then if ever we deny that any person or group is oppressed, we seem to imply that we think they never suffer and have no feelings. We are accused of insensitivity; even of bigotry. For women, such accusation is particularly intimidating, since sensitivity is on eof the few virtues that has been assigned to us. If we are found insensitive, we may fear we have no redeeming traits at all and perhaps are not real women. Thus are we silenced before we begin: the name of our situation drained of meaning and our guilt mechanisms tripped.

But this is nonsense. Human beings can be miserable without being oppressed, and it is perfectly consistent to deny that a person or group is oppressed without denying that they have feelings or that they suffer….

The root of the word “oppression” is the element “press.” The press of the crowd; pressed into military service; to press a pair of pants; printing press; press the button. Presses are used to mold things or flatten them or reduce them in bulk, sometimes to reduce them by squeezing out the gases or liquids in them. Something pressed is something caught between or among forces and barriers which are so related to each other that jointly they restrain, restrict or prevent the thing’s motion or mobility. Mold. Immobilize. Reduce.

The mundane experience of the oppressed provides another clue. One of the most characteristic and ubiquitous features of the world as experienced by oppressed people is the double bind – situations in which options are reduced to a very few and all of them expose one to penalty, censure or deprivation. For example, it is often a requirement upon oppressed people that we smile and be cheerful. If we comply, we signal our docility and our acquiescence in our situation. We need not, then, be taken note of. We acquiesce in being made invisible, in our occupying no space. We participate in our own erasure. On the other hand, anything but the sunniest countenance exposes us to being perceived as mean, bitter, angry or dangerous. This means, at the least, that we may be found “difficult” or unpleasant to work with, which is enough to cost one one’s livelihood; at worst, being seen as mean, bitter, angry or dangerous has been known to result in rape, arrest, beating, and murder. One can only choose to risk one’s preferred form and rate of annihilation.

Another example: It is common in the United States that women, especially younger women, are in a bind where neither sexual activity nor sexual inactivity is all right. If she is heterosexually active, a woman is open to censure and punishment for being loose, unprincipled or a whore. The “punishment” comes in the form of criticism, snide and embarrassing remarks, being treated as an easy lay by men, scorn from her more restrained female friends. She may have to lie to hide her behavior from her parents. She must juggle the risks of unwanted pregnancy and dangerous contraceptives. On the other hand, if she refrains from heterosexual activity, she is fairly constantly harassed by men who try to persuade her into it and pressure her into it and pressure her to “relax” and “let her hair down”; she is threatened with labels like “frigid,” “uptight,” “man-hater,” “bitch,” and “cocktease.” The same parents who would be disapproving of her sexual activity may be worried by her inactivity because it suggests she is not or will not be popular, or is not sexually normal. She may be charged with lesbianism. If a woman is raped, then if she has been heterosexually active she is subject to the presumption that she liked it (since her activity is presumed to show that she likes sex), and if she has not been heterosexually active, she is subject to the presumption that she liked it (since she is supposedly “repressed and frustrated”). Both heterosexual activity and heterosexual nonactivity are likely to be taken as proof that you wanted to be raped, and hence, of course, weren’t really raped at all. You can’t win. You are caught in a bind, caught between systematically related pressures.

Women are caught like this, too, by networks of forces and barriers that expose one to penalty, loss or contempt whether one works outside the home or not, is on welfare or not, bears children or not, raises children or not, marries or not, stays married or not, is heterosexual, lesbian, both or neither. Economic necessity; confinement to racial and/or sexual job ghettos; sexual harassment; sex discrimination; pressures of competing expectations and judgements about women, wives and mothers (in the society at large, in racial and ethnic subcultures and in one’s own mind); dependence (full or partial) on husbands, parents or the state; commitment to political ideas; loyalties to racial or ethnic or other “minority” groups; the demands of the self-respect and responsibilities to others. Each of these factors exists in complex tension with every other, penalizing or prohibiting all of the apparently available options. And nipping at one’s heels, always, is the endless pack of little things. If one dresses one way, one is subject to the assumption that one is advertising one’s sexual availability; if one dresses another way, one appears to “not care about oneself” or to be “unfeminine.” If one uses “strong language,” one invites categorization as a “lady” – one too delicately constituted to cope with robust speech or the realities to which it presumably refers.

The experience of oppressed people is that the living of one’s life is confined and shaped by forces and barriers which are not accidental or occasional and hence avoidable, but are systematically related to each other in such a way as to catch one between and among them and restrict or penalize motion in any direction. It is the experience of being caged in: all avenues, in every direction, are blocked or booby trapped.

Cages. Consider a birdcage. If you look very closely at just one wire in the cage, you cannot see the other wires. If your conception of what is before you is determined by this myopic focus, you could look at that one wire, up and down the length of it, and be unable to see why a bird would not just fly around the wire any time it wanted to go somewhere. Furthermore, even if, one day at a time, you myopically inspected each wire, you still could not see why a bird would gave trouble going past the wires to get anywhere. There is no physical property of any one wire, nothing that the closest scrutiny could discover, that will reveal how a bird could be inhibited or harmed by it except in the most accidental way. It is only when you step back, stop looking at the wires one by one, microscopically, and take a macroscopic view of the whole cage, that you can see why the bird does not go anywhere; and then you will see it in a moment. It will require no great subtlety of mental powers. It is perfectly obvious that the bird is surrounded by a network of systematically related barriers, no one of which would be the least hindrance to its flight, but which, by their relations to each other, are as confining as the solid walls of a dungeon.

It is now possible to grasp one of the reasons why oppression can be hard to see and recognize: one can study the elements of an oppressive structure with great care and some good will without seeing the structure as a whole, and hence without seeing or being able to understand that one is looking at a cage and that there are people there who are caged, whose motion and mobility are restricted, whose lives are shaped and reduced.

The arresting of vision at a microscopic level yields such common confusion as that about the male door-opening ritual. This ritual, which is remarkably widespread across classes and races, puzzles many people, some of whom do and some of whom do not find it offensive. Look at the scene of the two people approaching a door. The male steps slightly ahead and opens the door. The male holds the door open while the female glides through. Then the male goes through. The door closes after them. “Now how,” one innocently asks, “can those crazy womenslibbers say that is oppressive? The guy removed a barrier to the lady’s smooth and unruffled progress.” But each repetition of this ritual has a place in a pattern, in fact in several patterns. One has to shift the level of one’s perception in order to see the whole picture.

The door-opening pretends to be a helpful service, but the helpfulness is false. This can be seen by noting that it will be done whether or not it makes any practical sense. Infirm men and men burdened with packages will open doors for able-bodied women who are free of physical burdens. Men will impose themselves awkwardly and jostle everyone in order to get to the door first. The act is not determined by convenience or grace. Furthermore, these very numerous acts of unneeded or even noisome “help” occur in counter-point to a pattern of men not being helpful in many practical ways in which women might welcome help. What women experience is a world in which gallant princes charming commonly make a fuss about being helpful and providing small services when help and services are of little or no use, but in which there are rarely ingenious and adroit princes at hand when substantial assistance is really wanted either in mundane affairs or in situations of threat, assault or terror. There is no help with the (his) laundry; no help typing a report at 4:00 a.m.; no help in mediating disputes among relatives or children. There is nothing but advice that women should stay indoors after dark, be chaperoned by a man, or when it comes down to it, “lie back and enjoy it.”

The gallant gestures have no practical meaning. Their meaning is symbolic. The door-opening and similar services provided are services which really are needed by people who are for one reason or another incapacitated – unwell, burdened with parcels, etc. So the message is that women are incapable. The detachment of the acts from the concrete realities of what women need and do not need is a vehicle for the message that women’s actual needs and interests are unimportant or irrelevant. Finally, these gestures imitate the behavior of servants toward masters and thus mock women, who are in most respects the servants and caretakers of men. The message of the false helpfulness of male gallantry is female dependence, the invisibility or insignificance of women, and contempt for women.

One cannot see the meanings of these rituals if one’s focus is riveted upon the individual event in all its particularity, including the particularity of the individual man’s present conscious intentions and motives and the individual woman’s conscious perception of the event in the moment. It seems sometimes that people take a deliberately myopic view and fill their eyes with things seen microscopically in order not to see macroscopically. At any rate, whether it is deliberate or not, people can and do fail to see the oppression of women because they fail to see macroscopically and hence fail to see the various elements of the situation as systematically related in larger schemes.

As the cageness of the birdcage is a macroscopic phenomenon, the oppressiveness of the situations in which women live our various and different lives is a macroscopic phenomenon. Neither can be seen from a microscopic perspective. But when you look macroscopically you can see it – a network of forces and barriers which are systematically related and which conspire to the immobilization, reduction and molding of women and the lives we live….

From: Marilyn Frye, The Politics of Reality (Trumansburg, N.Y.,: The Crossing Press, 1983)

Filled with really great advice for both men and women, the issue focuses on new rules for living, a great guide to the best bars in America (which I linked to from the Wingwoman Club‘s facebook page here, if you’re actually interested), really great diagrams, and (unfortunately) pages of men that I personally think could be a little better looking. There are also articles on fatherhood, drinking, loving, and pretty much everything else – like, how you should act at every stage of your restaurant experience. It probably doesn’t hurt that the insanely hot Bradley Cooper is on the cover as well.

But why is the issue really appealing to me? Oh, you know, because I want a man. I’m all done with boys. Give me big, strong, polite, charming, witty, smart, sexy, hairy, emotionally-stable men. And give me lots to try out and choose from. #Agirlcandream

All-in-all, I have to say that I’m really impressed with the advice in the issue and would be floored if I met a man that actually behaves in all the ways they’re suggesting. Way to go, Esquire, way to go. Maybe the next issue could be How To Be Even More Of A Man?

A gift to myself for finally buying something to go on the wall behind our couch (an atypical Marimekko print): Proenza Schouler tasseled sandals. They are all black (which I needed), have a sexy arch and stacked heel, are really comfortable, and were on a sick sale at Barneys (yay!). I love them and plan on wearing them until they look as tired as all of the rest of my poor heels.

• ‘Like’ the Wingwoman Club on Facebook and sign up for our very first event in the city (July 9th)!!
• Follow on twitter @WingwomanClub for random bits about dating, men we want to have babies with, event info, and whatever else pops into my head
• I’m also going to be adding some dating related content here on ThoseExtra4Inches (because I am such a consistent, reliable blogger, I know!) including links to articles I find useful about the best bar scenes, the best outfits to wear for various dates, etc.

What did I tell you? Biggest. News. Of. Your. Life. Oh and fill out the survey here if you haven’t already. It might look intimidating, but it really isn’t that much work on your part. Just a few clicks and you’ll be part of the coolest club that ever was, ever.

Once again, the idea behind the WWC is simply getting a bunch of cool girls (women) together to get one another to go out, let our hair loose, and have a good time. We’ll drink, help each other pick up men, and just have fun doing it all.

And so I tweeted about it and discovered that other women felt the same way – it’s true, I discovered a true need in the market place, and so this is what I’m supplying: an adult club for women; The Wingwoman Club. A club for women who want to have a little fun, meet men, or help their friends meet men (or other women – doesn’t matter to me). Will it work? Who knows. But at least we’ll be getting out there with one another and having a good time. If you want to join the Wingwoman Club, start by filling out the questionnaire below…

And honestly, I thought it was kind of nice. Not so nice that I was willing to date him despite that the fact that he’s shorter than I am, balding, not in very good shape, and just not attractive to me on any level. But nice nonetheless and I sent him a note back saying, “Thanks for the kind note. Made me laugh. Hope you have a nice summer and good luck!”

Within 30 minutes I had a new message: “WOW!! I was just hoping for a smile, but am so happy that I made you laugh J You have a beautiful smile. Let me know if you’d ever like to meet for a drink.” And to this, I did not respond because you know, I don’t really want to have drinks with him.

And so, for the next couple of weeks, whenever I posted a new How About We date (think I posted about 4), he indicate that he was “intrigued” by it. I also received several other messages from him and ignored them as well. Finally he sent a longer message: “I don’t know what to do, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Your legs look so amazing and you seem to have the most amazing personality. I know that I could win your heart if you would give me the chance. We can go anywhere you want and do anything you want. Please give me a chance.”

AND… less than 30 minutes later he sent the following message, which is what caused me to block him from seeing my profile or contacting me anymore: “I don’t understand why you won’t write me back. You did once. Please. I can’t stop thinking about you. I just want to hear your voice.”

Ugh. Why did I ever respond to begin with?

Thought this was a nice follow-up to my silver skirt post. Bought this bracelet over a year ago at a Made Her Think sample sale for just $20. I’ve had to fix it twice, but it has been easy to do both times and well worth it. Jewelry sample sales are ALWAYS worth a go.

Also, I finally got a new iPhone this weekend and am completely in love with it. My new favorite apps are: Hootsuite (for my social media needs), Instagram (old school treatments for your pics), Cut the Rope (for those who love Angry Bird type games), ScanBizCards (where you take a picture of business cards and the information is automatically put into your contacts (life changing!)), and MTV’s Music Meter for discovering new artists. I’m also just loving the fact that I can finally enjoy facetime with others and take decent pictures like the ones above. I also have a new HP TouchPad on its way to me so I’ll be sure to let you know how that is – looks amazing!

While in Jamaica, I finally wore my silver Michael Kors skirt (bought on Gilt, fyi). Light as a feather, the fabric shines even at night. Unfortunately, I haven’t found the perfect top to wear with it and I also need it taken in just a bit to sit higher at my natural waist. Hopefully I’ll get a lot more use out of it because it really is so pretty when it moves. Photo by Rachel Scroggins – See more pictures from this trip here at StyledOn.

I was several minutes early and wore heels and something black that showed off plenty of leg because that’s what I do. PG was late by maybe 10-15 minutes and immediately went to the restroom upon arrival (which annoyed me). When he came to the table and we started talking, he kept shifting around in his seat and was clearly trying to sit in a way that would make him look cool, although he was obviously uncomfortable. Not to sound awful, but I believe that he thought I was gorgeous (he made several comments which led me to this conclusion) and also feel that it made him uncomfortable. We ordered drinks (wine for me and a mixed, girly cocktail for him), started talking, and I ended up going through my recent life story (the story of my son, job, life, etc.) and he kept remarking how incredible I was and that I was “such a strong woman.”

Anyway, he told me about working in DC at a think tank and then about his recent travels and his story about all of that was great, actually. And then he told me more about these two books he is currently writing on Pakistan and the Presidency in the United States and I realized that this guy is a mah-jor politico, which is great for the world I suppose, but something I am so not interested in, which means that even if we get along great, this relationship is doomed. When I was in my early 20s, I once dated a guy who was really into politics and I felt like I had to study the NYT before every date so I wouldn’t sound stupid. I now realize of course that just because I don’t care about politics, that certainly doesn’t mean I’m stupid; Politics simply aren’t an interest of mine and that’s ok. I also feel that plenty of guys (younger ones, especially) feel they have to talk about current events in order to prove that they’re real men and that drives me crazy.

But anyway, back to this story… So we have another drink and discuss science fiction books (a dorky indulgence of mine) and it’s time for me to go. We walk out together and down two blocks before I tell him that I’m getting into a cab. PG says he’s taking the subway to someplace where he can take the train to somewhere in New Jersey (clearly, I was sooo interested, right?). Anyway, we say goodbye and he goes in to grab my waist to pull me into him and kiss me, but I block it with my ninja-like reflexes, square off my shoulders, and instead grab his shoulders and plant an air-kiss a couple of inches away from his right cheek. Immediately after, I jump into a cab and head home to kiss someone else–my sweet, sleeping 5 year old.

The next day, he sends me a text and tell me that he’s going to read one of the sci. fi. authors I recommended (Samuel R. Delany) while he takes the train to DC. I tell him to read Babel 17 because I believed he would enjoy it and he says he will. After his weekend trip, PG send the following text message: “Finished [the book]….now I need to discuss the implications w you!”

I don’t respond as I’m not interested in further this relationship and figure that if he’s a smart guy, he’ll get the hint. But about a week or so later I get a long voicemail from him asking about going out again and rambling about the book, which I also do not respond to (because I know that with some guys, you give them an inch and they take a mile).

And here’s where things get a little strange: So a week or two after he leaves the voicemail, I get the following (long) text sent at 7:13pm: “So, casey, listen. I’m not giving up. We need to be friends. You are simply too fascinating to let you fall by the wayside. I’ve started dating someone fairly seriously, so it’s not about that. But the thought of not being able to get together every couple of months – to soak up your brilliance, good sense, sci fi knowledge, and the captivating stories of your life – is an inconceivable outcome!”

I read it to several girlfriends and my entire office, and decide to end this once and for all because, as he says, he isn’t giving up. So I respond the next day with: “We really don’t have that much in common at all – and as important as politics are, they aren’t interesting to me. I just don’t think we have enough to build a friendship on, and honestly, I’m already spread too thinly. Hope you have a good summer.”

Done, right? Right?! Nope. Three days later, at 11:23pm, he responds with this totally weird, WTF message: “As you wish. However, I’ve found that, as time passes, the universe tends to orient itself in my favor & my view is proven correct, whether it’s on the wearing of pocket squares or the collapse of the housing market. So the door is always open if circumstances change. Also, once the pakistan & presidency books are done, I may finally get around to writing my sci-fi project, so thanks for introducing me to delany.”

What?! Dude, “the universe tends to orient itself in my favor & my view is proven correct” – are you kidding me? As Chelsea Handler would say: What. A loser. Anyway, I see no point in responding so I’m not, but I do see several more oddballs my future if I continue to try to meet men only through these online dating sites… so I’m going to do something about it. I’m starting a Wingwoman Club. We’re going to go out, flirt with boys, and hopefully meet some real men along the way. More information about all of that soon, but can you believe this PG? Ugh, at least I stopped things right away. Remember that politico that Carrie Bradshaw dated who wanted to pee on her? Eww.

At Hellshire beach (about 40 minutes outside of Kingston). Photos by Rachel Scroggins for StyledOn

On my way to Stanley & Empress, an adorable shop in the heart of Kingston.

At Ft. Clarence beach eating & offering cotton candy to Kelly Millions.

I spent Memorial Day weekend with a fantastic group of people in Kingston for StyleWeek Jamaica. Invited by Kelly Millions (one of my favorite people on the New York fashion scene), I joined Michael for FAAG, Jayda Audrick (Stylist & Editor at Black Enterprise), writer Kristopher Arden Houser, Claire Sulmers of Fashion Bomb Daily, travel writer Yesenia Huezo, Elaine Welteroth (Beauty & Style Editor for Ebony), designers LaQuan Smith, Indashio, and Mataano designers Ayaan & Idyl Mohallim.

We spend five nights and four days in Kingston and did everything from watching fashion shows to eating lobsters on the beach and hanging out with Jamaican rapper Bounty Killa in a club that Shaggy’s publicist brought us to. For more pictures from my recent adventure as well as my StyledOn Guide to Kingston, see here >

“You don’t understand… this is an Alaia.”
“An a-what-a?”
“It’s like a totally important designer.”

God, how I love Cher. So silly, but so, so good. But what’s better than the Clueless darling? Maybe the fact that Alaia is on sale at The OUTNET for more than 50% off. That’s right. Go get it girls…

But now I’m not sure what to pack… nothing too slutty, too expensive looking, too flashy (or so I’ve been told). One thing I do know to buy pronto is the StyledOn for 3floz. Everyday Essentials kit complete with TSA-approved sizes of 5 awesome beauty products. Have you been to Jamaica? What would you suggest I pack?

How About We… try the Salty Pimp at the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck.
How About We… go out and try on different hats, each hat must come with a different funny voice.
How About We… take DJ lessons together and see who can spin better music.

And once a date is posted, other people can “be intrigued” by it, which is essentially the same thing as winking on Match. If you want to send a real message, you have to $ign up for an account. By focusing on the actual date idea, How About We aims to “flip the script on traditional online dating,” although that isn’t exactly how it seems to work as people most often write regarding my pictures or the random things I’ve written in my profile.

Now just a warning ladies, the pool of guys on the site is limited (and since I don’t search for women, I can’t comment on the total membership) and I’ve gotten a few sort of crazy messages, but also gone out on 2 totally fine dates. Also, the company is located in the exact same neighborhood where my ex, Rob lives, which may or may not mean anything. And as much as I am comfortable with dating online, I admit that I’m ready for a real man to walk up to me, begin an interesting conversation, tell me why I caught his eye, and then ask me out. And that means I have to start going out more. Sigh. Dating is so much work.